


shoulder to shoulder on the edge of the world

by pendules



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Xabi meets him on Albert Dock.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	shoulder to shoulder on the edge of the world

Xabi meets him on Albert Dock. It's late and Stevie knows his flight is early the next morning but he looks so relaxed (so _at home_ , he thinks with a pang) that he decides to let any such responsibility go, like he's pretty sure Xabi's also done, for tonight and for the extent of this impromptu trip.

The first thing he says is, "I remember the first time we came here. You and me."

And of course Stevie remembers that too. But it's strange, sometimes, to think about that part of their relationship. To remember that it actually existed - that sort of easy connection, away from the pitch and the spotlight, just the two of them, standing side by side looking out at the water for hours without saying a word. It's like how they would sometimes sit with shoulders and knees touching in the locker room after particularly frustrating draws at Anfield. It's like how they would sometimes sit at the bar when they'd go out for a drink with the lads, just observing from a distance and trading smiles whenever one of them did something embarrassing. Stevie actually thinks this is what they were before. Before they were anything else, before they had anything else. That's what he was for Stevie: someone there who was solid and gentle and whose hand on his arm could calm him down faster than anything else. Someone whose kind eyes made him less afraid and whose foreign accent made him think of home. Someone whose belief in him made him believe in himself.

"I remember too." _That's the first time I wanted to kiss you. And it was completely fucking insane, even having that sort of thought. I kind of wanted to die, to drown myself right then and there. I kind of wanted to never look at you again. I kind of wanted to do it, to kiss you, and then say it was because you looked kind of amazing in the moonlight or it was because I had a couple beers in me after a while of being sober or it was because you smiled at something I said, that ridiculous smile of yours, the one that seems to come from nowhere, that takes you completely by surprise, the one that can't possibly be real -_

 _But then I realised - I realised it_ wasn't _the first time._

"It seems like we were so young back then. You used to smile more," he says as an afterthought, and it's half-nostalgic and half-affectionate. Xabi himself smiles then and Stevie can't help but see his younger self in it - the one who he'd taken to this very same spot, who had gushed about how much he was starting to love the city, the one whose eyes lit up when he was excited - or when Stevie actually did kiss him for the first time.

"You did too. Everything was less...complicated, I guess. Somehow. Even when it was hard, it was different from now. _We_ were different, I guess."

"I miss that Stevie," Xabi replies, teasingly. Then, "I miss a lot of people. Or who they used to be. Who we all used to be." He looks at Stevie, almost worriedly, but Stevie doesn't say anything. He just looks away for a while. It _is_ harder now. It's tiring: growing up, feeling time passing, watching everything around you changing and reminding you that even if you stay still, you'll always be older and wearier than your surroundings.

"You know, I can't remember when you stopped calling me Steven and started calling me Stevie."

Xabi smiles at that, almost relieved.

"That's the point. You're not supposed to remember. It's just supposed to be natural."

A natural shift from friends to more, or the opposite. Usually, you kiss and then fall in love. It was all wrong with them. All out of order. It started too good. (Too good to be true. Istanbul is still a dream. It's never really become more solid than that. It's hard to hold on to, because it doesn't really belong to them. Not to them alone. It belongs to thousands of voices outside a dressing room, relentless, like a war cry. It belongs to six indescribable minutes of pure magic. It belongs to something above and beyond anything they can see or touch. It's enough, almost, to make him believe in God. He'll always feel like he owes this to someone else, something else. Something that was on their side. Something not of this earth.) Then there was nowhere to go but downhill from there. No one can be blamed for that, really.

He wants to say, _You left when it was just getting good again. You left right after you started calling me Stevie. You left just when we getting to know each other in the way we were supposed to in the first place. You left after we grew up and realised that it could all be ours again but this time, this time, it would be real. It would be ours, because we deserved it. Because we had the team and we had the tactics and we could beat anybody. Throw in Anfield and the Kop and You'll Never Walk Alone and we_ would _beat anybody. And we did, for a while._

 _But - but you left anyway._

"What else do you not remember?" And maybe it's sadder than Xabi intended it.

"I - There was something you told me in Madrid. In passing. Maybe it wasn't important at all. Something about the city. Or the people. Or something. About you? I don't know. I just randomly remembered that morning in Madrid the other day - and I can't remember what you said."

"I think... I remember asking you if you could ever live there. Or maybe I asked you if you had to live anywhere but here..."

"Did you know then?" And maybe this was what he was trying to remember: if his tone, his body language, some kind of wistfulness in his voice had given away his desire to leave. Maybe he'd imagined it. But he can't help but wonder...

"I don't know. I didn't ever just _know_. It was never that easy, Steven. I thought you knew that."

He seems kind of hurt. And Stevie's a bit annoyed by that. Probably more than he should be. Because he's been hurt too - he's been hurt too many times - and he always lashes out when he feels it the most.

"Apparently it was easy enough." _And I'm not your Steven anymore. We're past that. We're not twenty-four year old men acting like teenagers anymore. I've been left behind enough to know there's nothing romantic about it. It's just shitty. Every single time. You're not different._

(But, of course, he is.)

Xabi sighs, kind of desperately, kind of like, _I wish you could understand. I wish you could forgive me. But then you wouldn't be_ you. _You really wouldn't be my Steven._

His tone is even when he speaks, though.

"I don't know how to make this better, Steven. I honestly don't. But you've never needed me as much as I needed you. You know that."

He's never admitted it. But it's the truth.

"You have a whole city behind you. That's all you've ever needed. And you'll have that forever."

Stevie kind of wants to shout at him, _But I wanted you! I wanted you forever too._ He knows, though, he knows that he'll always have a part of him. The city will and he will. It's a part just for them.

He remembers Xabi's calming touch, his steady gaze and voice, how it was like he could drain all Stevie's frustration and anger away from him. Maybe he eventually taught him how to do that for himself. Maybe he's right. Maybe he did all he could do for him. Maybe Stevie owes him for that.

"I think you will too," he says finally.

And Xabi seems to accept it, seems grateful, almost. Like this is all he wanted, all he came here for: an acknowledgment of what they had and what this city meant to him.

"This place is still amazing." Xabi lets out a long breath, turning back to the water.

"Yeah, it doesn't really change, does it? It just carries on. They always carry on."

Stevie actually feels insignificant when he thinks about it. About their spirit, about how much they and this city have overcome, about how they've been fighting for decades before he was born and still will be decades after he's gone. He feels a burning pride to belong here, and for a moment, he knows what it's like to be Xabi, an outsider falling in love with this place. It's kind of impossible not to. He looks at Xabi's content expression and thinks that maybe his love affair with the city and his love affair with _him_ never were very far away from each other.

He has a sudden, kind of reckless thought then that reminds him even more of that first time here. This time, though, this time, he thinks, _Fuck it_. And he reaches out and takes Xabi's hand in his own. Xabi looks up at him, a little surprised at first, but also the most genuinely happy he's been all night.

They can't win matches together anymore. They can't celebrate in front of the Kop. And they can't trade gentle kisses after a loss. They can't make love in hotel rooms across Europe. So it's back to what they had before - that quiet understanding. Maybe for now, for tonight, it's enough. It's all they need.


End file.
